


Save Me

by SherlockedCumbercookie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abandonment, Absent Parents, Adoption, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Blood and Violence, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Child Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dad John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Father!John, Fluff and Angst, Food Deprivation, Gun Violence, Hope is a cruel man, I do not condone abuse, I hate Jeff Hope, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kid Sherlock, Kidlock, Orphan AU, Orphan Sherlock, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Poor baby Sherlock, Serial Killers, Sexual Abuse, Sleep Deprivation, Social Anxiety, Sweet, Verbal Abuse, chaining a child, child!Sherlock - Freeform, kid!Sherlock, mother!Mary, orphan!sherlock, sherlock's mother - Freeform, this comes from real experiences
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24496465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockedCumbercookie/pseuds/SherlockedCumbercookie
Summary: Sherlock lives a dark life with a man he knows is not his father. Jeff Hope commits murders and abuses Sherlock horribly. Sherlock’s only friend is a stuffed bumblebee named Bizzy. He longs for a true family who will love him and care for him. John Watson has just recently returned from service in Afghanistan, a broken man. When he is asked to take a shift at the ER for the night, he meets a precocious, smart child with dazzling blue eyes that plead with John to save him.
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 36





	Save Me

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a kidlock fanfiction. We need more of them!!!
> 
> Please be aware that this might be triggering, as it contains content of child abuse, child sexual abuse, and violence. Lots of cute, adorable little Sherlock, though. And the bad stuff doesn’t last forever. Hope you enjoy this and please comment below if you’d like to see more of this :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not condone abuse at all.  
> The factors of self-harm and anxiety stem from my own experiences.   
> DO NOT READ IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE THIS KIND OF STUFF.   
> I warned you...

Sherlock huddled in the corner of the dark room, clutching his stuffed bumblebee to his chest. His heart was beating loudly. He was so sure the other occupants of the room could hear it. Silent tears poured down his cheeks as he watched his captor and a lady quietly talking. Mr. Jefferson Hope had his cap pulled down over his face so that no one could see his eyes. The lady, clad all in pink, sat on the opposite couch. She was holding a pill bottle in her hands. Mr. Hope was holding a gun to the lady’s head and she was crying. “Did I just give you the good bottle, or the bad one?” Hope asked in a low voice, grinning maliciously. 

Sherlock had seen this happen many times before. Jefferson Hope would kidnap someone and bring them home. Then, he would put out two pills. One was a poisoned pill and the other was not. Mr. Hope would then ask his victim to guess which one was poisoned and then eat the other one. If they did not want to do that, Mr. Hope offered them a bullet to the head. Most of the time, it ended when the victim died-either from a bullet wound or from poisoning. It was a game Sherlock thought was very scary but for some reason, Mr. Hope seemed to enjoy it. “Good fun,” he called it. 

The lady’s cry cut through Sherlock’s reverie and he jumped, blinking like a baby owl. The woman, dressed in a bright pink coat, was lifting one of the pills to her mouth. She was shaking all over and begging for mercy too. “No… please… no….” she whimpered. 

Mr. Hope was chuckling quietly, still holding the gun to the lady’s head. “Now, this is the fun part,” he said. “Go on. Take it.” With a soft whimper, the pink lady placed the pill on her tongue and swallowed. 

Sherlock shut his eyes and hugged his bumblebee tighter. He hated this bit. The part where the victim started frothing at the mouth and fell over, convulsing violently until dead. There was a loud thump, a strangled cry, and the sound of Mr. Hope laughing. She’s dead, Sherlock thought and he felt his eyes tear up.  
“What’s the matter, boy?” 

Sherlock felt a hand grip his shoulder and he looked up at Mr. Hope. Mr. Hope was red, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, but he looked happy, not angry (which Sherlock supposed was a good thing.) “I feel much better. Get up and stop cowering. Go fetch me some beer.” Mr. Hope let go of Sherlock’s shoulder and went to sit on the fading divan. 

“Yes sir,” Sherlock whispered, scrambling to his feet. He tried avoiding looking at the body but the smell of death was prevalent in the air and he couldn’t help but glance at the corpse. The pink lady was lying face down, her face resting in her own vomit. Mr. Hope took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, staring eerily down at the body. Gagging, Sherlock covered his nose with his bee and crossed the rotting floor to the small kitchen, being careful to step around the broken beer bottles and discarded cigarettes. His stomach growled loudly and he remembered he hadn’t had anything to eat for nearly two days. Mr. Hope had to give permission to him to eat and he had been quite moody the past few days so Sherlock went hungry. 

“Hurry it up, you little shit!” 

Sherlock gripped the bottle in both hands and whirled around, heart pounding. Mr. Hope was standing in the doorway, puffing on a cigarette. The bottle slipped out of Sherlock’s hands and fell to the ground. It was all slow motion to Sherlock, who watched in horror as the bottle hurtled through the air and smashed to a thousand pieces. Glass flew everywhere. Amber-coloured liquid ran over the floorboards. Sherlock stood, motionless, petrified with fear. 

Mr. Hope raised his bushy eyebrows, his eyes darkening. “Why, you little shit!” he shouted, lunging across the floor. He grabbed Sherlock by the arm and shook him roughly. “That’s liquid gold there, brat!” 

Sherlock whimpered, trying to hide his face, as Mr. Hope shook him. “P-Pwease… it was an accident,” he begged, holding up his hands to protect himself from the blows. Mr. Hope didn’t reply. He only cursed under his breath and shook Sherlock harder, shoving him up against the counter and twisting Sherlock’s arm painfully behind his back. “Ow! No! Pwease!” Sherlock screamed as excruciating pain shot up his arm. “Stop it, pwease, stop it! I’m sowwy! I won’t do it again!” He hid his face in his bumblebee, trying to hide his tears, but Mr. Hope yanked the stuffed bee away. 

“You’re too old for toys,” Mr. Hope shouted, dangling the bumblebee above Sherlock’s head. “I think I’m going to light what's-his-name on fire. I think he’d make a very good candle, don’t you, Sherly?” Mr. Hope held the tip of his glowing cigarette to the bumblebee’s black and yellow fur, his eyes glowing with a maniacal eagerness. 

“No! Stop it, pwease! Stop!” Sherlock howled like a banshee, jumping up and trying to grab his bumblebee’s wings. “Let him go now! Don’t set him on fire!” Desperate tears streamed down his cheeks as he pleaded for the life of his beloved stuffed toy. Bizzy looked absolutely terrified, trapped in the clutches of the madman. “Pwease, I’m sowwy for-for dropping it…. Won’t do it no moe.” 

Mr. Hope laughed and dropped the bumblebee. “I’m just playing with you, brat. Stop your whining and clean up this glass.” He sent a well-aimed kick in Sherlock’s direction; Sherlock fell to the ground, catching himself with his hands. “Hurry up. I’m going to take care of some things.” (By ‘some things’ he meant disposing of the body) Then he stalked out of the room, cursing under his breath. 

Sherlock picked himself up off the floor, whimpering with relief that his bumblebee had not met a fiery end. He clutched the toy to his chest, smoothing down the bee’s antennae and rumpled fur. “It’s okay Bizzy. I’ve got you now. I won’t let mean Mr. Hope hurt you again,” he whispered in the bee’s ear, burying his nose in the soft plush. “We have to be brave little soldiers, Bizzy. It’s hard, ‘cause I’m scared all the time, but at least I have you.” 

Bizzy stared back at Sherlock, his black eyes round and understanding. Don’t cry, Sherlock. It’s going to be alright. I’m here for you. 

“Thanks. I can always count on you,” Sherlock said and he kissed Bizzy’s head. “Sometimes…. Sometimes, I wish I could have stayed with Mummy. I almost don’t remember her, Bizzy.” Sherlock closed his eyes, hugging Bizzy tightly. He vaguely remembered his mother-a tall, beautiful woman with porcelain white skin and black curls much like his own. He could still hear her voice in his head; beautiful, delicate and light like silver bells. Sherlock missed the way she used to stroke his curls and sing him to sleep when he had nightmares. “I want Mummy,” Sherlock wept and he saw Bizzy was crying too. “Oh no, Bizzy, don’t cry. It’s alright.” He wiped his bee’s eyes with the hem of his shirt. “I know you want Mummy too. We’ll see her again, Bizzy. Don’t worry.” 

He knew full well that his mother was probably never coming back. She had abandoned him on Mr. Hope’s doorstep and then disappeared into the night. Sherlock didn’t understand why. Had he done something wrong? Did she not love him anymore? That must be it. He must have been a very bad boy for his mummy to leave him. But, didn’t she hold a little bit of love in her heart for him? He wondered if she remembered him; how he made her smile when she was feeling down, how he made her laugh by standing on his head. He cuddled Bizzy close. “I wonder why she left.” 

Bizzy wondered that too, as he sat snuggled in his child’s arms. I love you, Sherlock. I will always love you, his big black eyes seemed to say. 

“I wove you too.” 

Sherlock finally let his tears flow freely.


End file.
